


Brief Conversations with Hideous Friends

by jeffgoldblumvevo



Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffgoldblumvevo/pseuds/jeffgoldblumvevo
Summary: "I value your opinion above all others, Jo," Pacey says. "Your disapproval has made me pause slightly, on several occasions.""Before you went ahead and did whatever you wanted anyway," Joey says dryly."But Ipaused," Pacey says.





	Brief Conversations with Hideous Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/gifts).



> hi there, sandyk! a confession: I adore your writing. Another confession: I was working on this last year as a Yuletide treat when real life happened to me and I dropped it. But here it is now, almost a year late, like pretty much everything I write nowadays. I really hope you like it, and not just so I don't feel guilty for taking this long. Have fun.
> 
>  
> 
> note: mention of abusive Tamara/underage Pacey in section two

**1998**

"Freedom! Sweet, _sweet_ freedom," Pacey says, and throws his backpack directly at the window of his car. It slams into the rearview and tumbles down onto the sidewalk. Emphatically.

"I regret this already," says Joey.

Pacey doesn't seem to notice she'd said anything. "I meant to do that. Hey, we didn't get homework in Bio, did we?"

"We absolutely got homework in Bio," Joey says.

"Yeah, I didn't think we did," Pacey replies, attempting to sort of - dropkick the backpack back up into his hands, with very limited success. "Hey, you wanna swing by Mickey's on the way to jail? I've got a craving for a milkshake."

Joey takes a moment to visibly swallow whatever dry insult that instinctively sprang to mind. "I would really, really rather not. And could you not call it that?"

"Jail?" says Pacey, giving up on the backpack. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

"You're impossible, Pacey."

"Did you want me to call it something else? Like a euphemism or something? Like 'yes, so excited to call upon your father at the spa this weekend; should be a real treat. The complimentary dessert bar is always delicious.'"

Joey winces. "You could just be a little - " she stops, shaking her head. "You know what? I was going to say 'sensitive,' because I forgot for a second where I was and who I was with. Sorry, won't happen again."

"Hey, I'm totally sensitive," Pacey says, just short of a whine. "I was gonna pay for your milkshake."

"I'm lactose intolerant, you cretin," Joey says, and kicks his backpack out of her way with her foot.

"Just because you don't like drinking milk plain doesn't mean you're lactose intolerant."

"Ugh, shut _up_ ," Joey replies, slamming her way into the passenger seat. "And pick up your backpack. My headphones are in there."

"I gave them back to you at lunch!"

"You _so_ did not."

Pacey rolls his eyes in response. "Always a pleasure to spend time in your company, Potter. Especially when I'm doing you gigantic, time consuming favors. It really brings a, I dunno, _purpose_ to my aimless, vacuous life."

"Would you _please_. _Get_. In the _car_ ," Joey says through gritted teeth, refusing to be impressed by his use of 'vacuous' in a sentence.

"Okay, but we're one hundred percent stopping for milkshakes now," Pacey says, and shoves his backpack into her lap.

"Ass said what," Joey mutters.

"What?" 

"Nothing," she says.

 

 

 

Pacey asks the girl at Mickey's if they have dark chocolate, because his best friend is really bitter. Joey punches him in the arm repeatedly until he gives up and orders her vanilla.

"I think you bruised the muscle," Pacey said, flexing and wincing. "One of these days, Potter, I'm gonna hit back."

"No you're not," Joey says. 

"No I'm not, but one of these days," Pacey repeats, and leaves the threat open-ended, picking up his own mint chip shake with a distinct air of resentment.

"If you were going to kill me you'd have done it already," Joey says confidently, already in a slightly better mood, due to both the ice cream and the punching. Both things usually have such an effect on her. "You've had plenty of chances by now."

"I've been waiting for my moment. Biding my time, plotting, you know, et cetera."

"Whatever you say, Pace."

Pacey drives like a maniac most of the time, except when they're driving to the jail, in which cases he drives like a geriatric police officer with vision problems. Squinting at the road, hands at ten and two, the whole nine yards. When pressed about it, all he'll do is ominously mention the time his dad and Doug took him on a prison tour to scare him straight after he got detention in sixth grade for defacing Brandon Thomas's gym locker, and he always looks vaguely ill when he talks about that, so Joey's never pressed. 

"The speed limit is forty-five, you know," she says, sucking up the last of her vanilla victory shake through her straw.

"Thanks, Potter, for the clarification."

"I wasn't clarifying anything, I was just saying," Joey replies. "The faster we go the faster you can be released from the punishment of my company."

"Punishment?! No, Joey Potter, you are no punishment," Pacey says, still squinting. "Purgatory, maybe. A lesson in patience and tolerance. A vision in a red dress and a mean right hook, but punishment? No."

Joey snickers. "It was a left hook, dumbass."

"And I still have the ache in my jaw to prove it." Pacey rubs his face dramatically. 

"That was five years ago, Pacey! Your jaw doesn't _ache,_ for God's sake."

"I can always tell when it's going to rain," Pacey says wistfully.

Joey settles for a dramatic eye roll. Sometimes that's the only way to end a conversation with Pacey.

"So," Pacey says, "did you bring him something this time?"

"Bring him something?"

"It's his birthday, isn't it? That's why we're going this weekend instead of next weekend?"

Joey sighs. "I got him a Dean Koontz novel."

"Oh," Pacey says lamely. "Well, he'll like that."

"No he won't," Joey shoots back. "But if you must know, it's the only book in Bessie's entire house that isn't a cookbook or an ancient copy of Time magazine, and something's better than nothing." What goes unsaid, that she couldn't afford to just go out and buy her dad a novel, feels bitter and rotten in the air between them.

"I could have - "

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Joey hisses.

Pacey raises his eyebrows, huffing. "My mom has a lot of books," he says. "None of which she's read, or has ever been interested in reading. You could've taken one of those, is what I was gonna say."

"And give her yet another reason to hate me? No thanks," Joey grumbles, refusing to feel bad. He knows how she feels about money, and when he offers her money. It's bad enough that he has to drive her all over the place all the time. 

"She doesn't hate you," Pacey lies. Badly. "Bess didn't send anything with you?"

"No," Joey mutters. "She doesn't even acknowledge that we _have_ a father, most days. You think she's really sending me out here with presents?"

"I thought you said she was loosening up a little."

"I just meant she stopped trying to forbid me from visiting him at all," Joey explains. "It's not exactly stellar progress."

"She'll come around, Jo," Pacey says quietly.

"Yeah," Joey says. "Maybe."

Pacey lets the silence sit for just long enough before breaking it again by turning on the radio, one of his obnoxious hair band mixtapes. Joey groans out loud, secretly grateful as he starts to sing along loudly - that's what she likes about Pacey, deep down, in the part of her heart that will admit to actually liking him: he always seems to know just what to do to help keep her head on straight. It's always been that way.

"If you're going to torture me audibly the least you can do is drive the speed limit," Joey shouts, interrupting a chorus.

Pacey grins, easing off the gas. "Nag says what!"

"Oh, fuck off," Joey yells.

 

 

 

"Happy birthday, Dad," Joey says, trying not to stare. It's really, really hard not to. 

"Thanks, sweetheart." Mike Potter's clearly seen better days; his face is thin, almost gaunt, and he's clearly favoring his right side, leaning heavily against the picnic table. Another thing Joey's trying not to stare at. 

"Sorry about the book - I know you don't like thrillers very much, but - "

"Are you kidding? Something new to read? It's perfect," Mike insists. "I've become less picky in my old age."

Joey snorts. "Old? You're not even forty yet, Dad."

"Older than you," Mike says easily. "There's only so many times you can read the same books before you start to go a little crazy. Seriously, Joey, thank you. I love it."

Joey tries for a smile, and is moderately successful, judging by the answering one her dad gives back. Or maybe he's just being polite. "Good, I'm glad."

"So, how's Bessie?"

"Good, she's good. She's about ready to pop," Joey says. Mike nods eagerly, gesturing at her to go on. "She's...you know, the same as always, I guess. She and Bodie are trying to narrow down baby names - it's been like World War III at home, lately."

"Mike's a good name," he suggests.

Joey scoffs before she can help herself. "Dream on, Dad."

"Okay, okay," Mike says, laughing. It sounds oppressively loud, somehow, even though they're outside, and the lot is relatively empty, aside from the guards. "Can't blame an old man for trying."

Joey picks at a hangnail on her thumb, trying to smile again. A noise from one of the towers makes her jump, and she bites her lip, hating this place, the situation, all of it, all over again. 

"She didn't come with you, huh," Mike says. 

"She's not so great in the car anymore," Joey says weakly. "She gets carsick. She really is almost to her due date, Dad."

"Sure, sure. That boyfriend of hers drove you, then?"

Joey doesn't think, in all the years that Bess has been dating him, that she's ever heard her Dad actually say Bodie's name. "No, Pacey drove me."

"Pacey drove you? Pacey Witter?"

"He always drives me here," Joey tells him, taken aback by the harsh note to his voice. "Why, what's the big deal?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just - " Mike runs one hand through his already mussed hair. "I didn't know you two were still close."

"We've been best friends since we were in diapers, Dad," Joey says. "I literally have never been closer to anyone else. Why wouldn't we still be close?"

"I dunno, Jo-Jo. Listen, I don't want to fight," Mike says, grimacing.

"Don't call me Jo-Jo then," Joey snaps. 

Mike holds up his hands, placatingly. "Alright. Sorry."

Joey huffs, turning her face away, cheeks hot. She can just barely see Pacey's dad's truck through the wire of the fencing, peeking out from behind one of the big white prison vans that are always parked at the front of the lot. He always waits in the car while she visits, never once complains about how long she sometimes takes. Never asks her for gas money, or pushes her to talk about it. He just drives her here, and drives her back, and sometimes buys her ice cream. That's it. 

"If you've started, you know, dating," Mike says hesitantly, "I'd hope that you'd tell me about it, honey. Not that I _want_ you to, by any means - "

"I'm not dating anyone," Joey says shortly, whipping her head around. "And I'm certainly not dating _Pacey_."

"I never said you were," Mike says. "I just said, if you started dating. That's all."

"But what if I was?" Joey asks, sticking her chin out. "Would that be so bad, for my first boyfriend to be my best friend? Someone I've always trusted and counted on? The son of an _upstanding family_?"

"Joey," Mike says darkly, "you don't need to be mean. You know my issues with John Witter."

"He put you in jail, that's your issue."

"He's an alcoholic, damn it," Mike bursts out, hitting the flat of his hand against the table. Joey jumps, and sees one of the guards turn, moving a few steps closer. "I didn't want you in that house when you were little, and I don't want you there now. It has nothing to do with me."

"Well, I don't see how you have much choice in the matter," Joey spits. "And for the record? He doesn't drink when I'm there. Pacey makes sure of it."

Mike glares at his lap for a second, then shoots a look over his shoulder at the guard, still watching them closely. "I don't wanna fight," he says again.

"Then we shouldn't talk about Pacey," Joey concludes.

"Fine."

"Fine."

A sullen silence falls, markedly different from the one earlier in the car. Joey picks at her hangnail some more, willing her heartbeat to slow down. 

"I know why I'm here," Mike finally says, sounding tired now, rather than angry. The gauntness and defeat are back, and he truly does look old. "Just because he arrested me doesn't mean he put me here. He wasn't even the officer on my case - in fact, he offered to - " Mike breaks off with a dark chuckle. "Never mind."

"Offered to what?" Joey asks, frowning.

"It doesn't matter," Mike says, dismissive. He sounds, in that moment, eerily like Bessie, in some of her snappier, more hormonal moments. "I'm here because I deserve to be here, sweetheart. You know it, I know it. Your sister sure as hell knows it. No way around it."

"You'll get out one day," Joey says, hating how her voice sounds as she says it. "You're eligible for parole in February."

"And I'll apply, and we'll see what happens." Mike reaches out slowly, looking over his shoulder again as he takes Joey's hand, gentle on the tabletop. Joey grits her teeth. "One day at a time. That's the only thing that helps."

"Okay." 

Mike smiles, and it looks more like a grimace. "Tell Pacey thank you, for driving. I really do appreciate it."

"Sure," Joey says. 

 

 

 

"You hungry? I'm starving," Pacey says. "What's between here and home? Don't say Burger King. I still haven't forgiven them for the Strawberry Shake Incident of '96."

Joey shrugs. "We can eat if you want."

Pacey frowns at her. "Is that Joey Potter-ese for 'stop talking' or is it just your natural sullenness shining through again?"

Joey shoots him a glare. "Come to think of it, I actually really want Burger King and absolutely nothing else. Put her in gear, cowboy."

"If I were a less sensitive soul, I would take you at your word and actually make you eat Burger King," Pacey says. "Luckily for you, I am sensitive. And caring. Wanna talk about it?"

"No." Joey crosses her arms, hitching her knees up against the dashboard. "Yes. Maybe. I'm undecided."

"Oookay. Want me to shut up, then?"

"Always," Joey drawls. "But luckily for you, you never take me at my word."

Pacey laughs. "Of course I don't. You don't even mean half the crap you say."

For some reason, this makes Joey blush. "He thought we were dating," she blurts, snapping her mouth shut as soon as the words escape. _Stupid,_ she thinks. 

Pacey laughs again, louder. "Now there's a thought."

"Don't get any ideas," Joey warns him. "You're so not my type."

"No, trust me, Jo, I know very well that you're saving yourself for that puppy-dog-eyed, floppy hair film nerd in your English class."

Joey sputters. " _Dawson Leery?!_ Seriously - that goody-two-shoes rich boy? You're delusional. Absolutely whacked."

"Uh huh," Pacey says, grinning. "That rosy blush on your cheeks is really hammering home the denial there, Potter."

Joey shoots him the most venomous glare she can muster. "He's dating Jen Lindley anyway," she mutters.

"Whatever," Pacey says, with a dismissive shake of his head, "like she'd hold a candle to you at your worst, if you really tried. You play dirty, Potter."

"I do not!"

"Yes," Pacey insists, "you really do. Listen, don't sit there and make faces at me - as your bestest friend in the whole wide world, it's my duty to tell you these things. My sacred duty, if you will."

"If you were really my bestest friend in the whole wide world, you'd believe me when I say I want Burger King," Joey shoots back.

"Because you don't really want Burger King," Pacey says patiently. "You're just saying that out of spite. See?" He wags a finger in her face. "I know you better than you know yourself."

Joey shoves his hand away, rolling her eyes. "And this is exactly why we'd never work as a couple."

"Preachin' to the choir, sweetheart. You're not my type either."

"Well," Joey says, struggling for a decent comeback. "Good."

"Good!" Pacey slaps one palm against the steering wheel. "Let's get seafood."

"Seafood's expensive," Joey says. 

"What do you care, I'm paying."

"Since when do you have money for seafood?!"

"Since Doug gave me cash for food not knowing that my mom already gave me some last night," Pacey says smugly. "I'm practically a millionaire, Jo! By our meager teenage standards, anyway. The world is our oyster - pun intended."

"Nah," Joey says with a smile. "You know what I want?"

"World peace?"

"Tacos," Joey says, and Pacey hoots in delight. 

"Taco Bell it is! The mistress has spoken." He guns the engine a bit as he pulls out of the parking lot - a daring move, considering his profound and cowardly fear of police officers and driving to a prison without a license, respectively. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"I keep you around, actually," Joey corrects, hoping against hope that he won't hear the genuine gratitude in her voice, since she's utterly unable to disguise it. Not so soon after a conversation with her father that she'll probably think about for the rest of her mortal life, and not while sitting in Pacey's purloined truck, which he purloins for her sake, and her sake alone. Facing his fears, just because she asked. "God knows why," she says, practically choking on the words.

Pacey shoots her a knowing look. "My devilish good looks," he says.

"Mm. No, that can't be it."

"Well it's definitely not my personality," he replies, boisterous as ever. Quick as anything, he reaches out and squeezes her knee. Just once. Then his hands are back to ten and two, like nothing ever happened. 

"Definitely not," Joey replies, leaning her head back against the window. 

_Thank you,_ is what she means to say. Judging by the sly grin on his face, he hears it.

"I'm only paying if you promise not to get one of those horrendous Mexican pizzas," he says. 

"You'll pay for whatever I want, because I'm gonna help you with the Bio homework," Joey says confidently. 

"Pfft. We didn't have homework in Bio."

"Guy who's gonna flunk ninth grade says what," Joey says. 

"Shut up."

 

 

 

 

**2003**

Joey's not going to say it, but this is exactly the situation she had explicitly asked them not to put her in, when they started dating. Audrey's been maudlin and weepy for days, Joey can't even change her clothes in peace anymore, and Pacey calls her with hourly updates on the status of his moods. It's torture.

"Is that him?" Audrey demands, every time her phone rings.

"No, it's Bessie," Joey will respond, or: "no, my lab partner," or "that guy from the library again, ugh, can't take a hint." Or, one time, creatively: "oh my God, oh my God, I think I just pocket-dialled Dawson," which she sold genuinely enough to distract Audrey for a solid couple of hours. She thinks. 

It's always Pacey, though. Joey's running out of excuses. "It's not like I don't know you're still talking to him," Audrey says, "you don't have to like, _lie._ You're really bad at it, by the way."

"I am not," Joey says weakly. "Look, Audrey, I don't mean to be insensitive, but - "

"But I'm ruining your life with my breakup. Yeah, I get it," Audrey says shortly. "Look at me. I cry every twenty minutes. I can't find any of my shoes, and I haven't changed my bra in six days."

Joey wrinkles her nose. "Well, that's - disgusting, but not...actually readily apparent to the naked eye."

"It'd be more apparent if you could smell me the way I can smell myself." Audrey flops backwards on her bed, utterly defeated. "Whatever. Just leave me here to die."

Joey sighs, dropping her phone on her bed on her way over to Audrey's side. "You're not going to die. You're twenty-one, in the prime of your life, and most of your shoes are underneath your bed."

"The one place I forgot to look!" Audrey laments, burying her weepy face in Joey's offered lap. "I'm a mess."

"A temporary one," Joey says, stroking her hair. Audrey sniffles a few times, her shoulders shuddering weakly, before pulling away, eyes rimmed with red. 

"Okay, I'm done. Get out of here, you can go comfort him now."

"Audrey," Joey protests. 

"No! Seriously. You're his bosom buddy, his...other half, I dunno. It's not like I was under the delusion that you'd pick my side over his." Audrey sniffles again. "Not that there are sides. Just, you know."

Joey reaches out and takes her hand. "I love you both," she says genuinely. "You know you're my girl."

Audrey blinks, looking teary again. "Yeah," she warbles, squeezing back. "But you're his girl, too. So do me a favor and stop fucking lying to my face, you two-faced bitch."

"Only if you change your goddamn bra, you bleached-out slob," Joey says, grinning. 

"Deal." Audrey gives her another push. "Make sure you tell him he's an asshole. Promise me that much, at least."

"For you, I'll do it twice," Joey says, blowing a kiss. 

"Yeah, yeah," Audrey grumbles, waving her away with one hand. Joey quickly grabs her phone, her purse, her ID, and slips out the door before anyone changes their mind. It's been a rough couple of weeks. 

 

 

 

She finds Pacey at the bar, naturally. As if the Devil himself had arranged it, Pacey and Audrey broke up exactly two days before Pacey's twenty-first birthday, which was either perfect timing or horribly fucking disastrous timing, depending on what mood Pacey's in when he mentions it. He's been mentioning it a lot.

"Potter," he greets, practically melted into a corner booth. Joey waves at the bartender, a friendly girl named Tess, who was in the same gen ed seminar as Joey and once beat off a lecherous grad student on her behalf. Joey tips as well as she's able. "Welcome to the party. It's a grand occasion, and the guest of honor is this little bag of Chex Mix I found on the windowsill. Would you like my pretzels? I saved them for you."

Joey wrinkles her nose. "I'm supposed to tell you you're an asshole."

"Ah." Pacey raises his beer at her, weakly. "That, I knew."

"Actually, I'm supposed to do it twice, but I think the second time can wait a few minutes at least. Did you really save me the pretzels?" Joey goes to investigate. 

"You should have more faith in me, Jo. Of course I saved you the pretzels - I'm a gentleman and a scholar."

"You are neither of those things, and better off for it," Joey says, munching happily. "These were sealed when you found them, right?"

Pacey pauses, a much longer one than Joey's comfortable with. "Sure," he says. 

Joey rolls her eyes and tosses it aside. "So how long have you been here?"

"This is my...third," Pacey says, again, too slow to be confident. "So, I dunno. An hour or so."

"Pacey," Joey says gently. "This isn't the way to deal with this."

"And what would your alternate suggestion be then, Potter?" Pacey asks. He doesn't wait for an answer. "Tell me the dirty details. Is she as wrecked as I am?"

"She's...moderately wrecked," Joey says, deciding then and there not to say anything else. "C'mon. Let's go get some food or something - I'm starving."

"I still have all this beer left," Pacey protests. His glass is about half full, if Joey is speaking generously. "You want the rest?"

"You know I don't," Joey says. 

Pacey shrugs, taking a long drink. Joey averts her eyes, for some weird reason, not wanting to watch him drink it. She's seen Pacey drunk before, of course - their first couple of years in Boston, they were both drinking all the time, going to parties, wholeheartedly exploring the wonders offered to them as young, attractive college students, on their own for the first time in the big city. Well - Joey was a college student, anyway, but Pacey was reckless and anxious enough to qualify too. 

Speaking of. "You don't have class in the morning, do you?" Joey asks, carefully non-judgmental. 

"Huh? Oh. No, I withdrew for the semester."

Joey's stomach drops in dismay. "Pace," she says, struggling to keep it out of her voice. 

"Don't start. I can always sign up again in January."

Joey bites back everything she wants to say to _that,_ and settles on a hopefully neutral, "okay." Judging by the look he shoots her, she's not that successful. "Come on, finish already. I want Tasty Burger."

Pacey grimaces. "No, no way. Not _again,_ Potter. You're killing me with the Tasty Burger."

"Pizza then. Or - whatever, I don't care, you pick something. IHOP is still open."

"Spare me," Pacey mutters. Then, louder, "I'm not that hungry."

"Well I am," Joey insists. "Come _on._ My treat."

"I said I'm not hungry," Pacey says, as sharp as he ever gets with her, which still isn't all that sharp. Still, Joey's taken aback by it, sitting back in the booth like she's been scolded. "Sorry," he mutters, after an awkward second. "We can go if you want - "

"No," Joey interrupts. "No. We can stay if you wanna stay. I'll have a drink with you."

"Jo," Pacey starts, looking guilty. "They're not gonna serve you here, you're not legal yet."

"Tess will," Joey says confidently, already rising from her seat. "You want another one?" She snorts. "What am I saying, of course you do."

"Hey," Pacey says sharply, "don't - "

"Shut up, Pacey," Joey snaps, already walking away. Straight to the bar, and she doesn't look back. 

 

 

 

It's not like it's a _thing,_ that she doesn't like to drink. She doesn't like being drunk, which is the key difference. Her friends are often weirder about it than she is, always being overly accommodating about it, offering her water and soda and even a glass of _orange juice_ once, at a house party on fraternity row. Of all things - _orange juice_. 

Tess does serve her, with a sly smile and a nod toward Pacey's booth. Joey still doesn't look back. "Let me know if you guys need anything else, okay?"

"Sure," Joey says, picking up the bottle Tess has given her. "What is this, by the way?"

Tess laughs. "It's local. Light beer, kind of fruity. Lemme know if you don't like it."

Joey nods. "What's Pacey drinking?"

"Rolling Rock. Nothing stronger so far." Tess raises an eyebrow. "You want me to cut him off?"

"I'll let you know," Joey says. 

Pacey grunts at her when she returns, obviously still in a sour mood. He doesn't even look at the fresh glass she thunks down - as aggressively as she dares - in front of his face. "You didn't have to do that."

"Seems like I kinda did," Joey says, giving her bottle a try. It's not terrible. 

"How is Audrey, really," Pacey half-asks, still visibly contrite. "We talked a little last week, and it seemed like we ended things okay, but you never know, do you?"

"She'll be fine," Joey says firmly. Pacey nods at her, seemingly accepting the line that's been drawn. "I'm here to talk to you, about how _you're_ doing."

"Pretty goddamn all-around fantastically crappy, thank you for asking, Potter," Pacey says, finally seeming to notice that he has a fresh beer. "Is this how it felt when you dumped Dawson? I always thought you were...I dunno, exaggerating it just a _little_ \- no offense. But it really does suck just as much when you're the one who does the dumping, huh?"

"This isn't the first time you've dumped somebody," Joey points out. "And yes. Judging by those bags under your eyes, what you're feeling right now is _exactly_ how it felt with Dawson."

"Well that doesn't seem fair," Pacey says. 

Joey shrugs. "It means you cared a lot," she says. "That means something, doesn't it? If it didn't hurt then it means it didn't mean anything."

"I'm not drunk enough yet to take this to a philosophical place, Jo."

"You've got a weird definition of philosophy."

Pacey just shrugs, listless and sad. "You think we could've worked it out? Be honest."

"I think," Joey says carefully, "that to work things out, you both need to _want_ to work things out. And it's absolutely, 100% understandable that you don't."

"It's not like she cheated on me," Pacey says. "I feel...I dunno. Like I'm being unreasonable about the whole thing."

Joey takes a deep breath. "She knew about what happened with Andie, Pace. She shouldn't have hid it from you. And that's all I'm gonna say."

"I know she's your friend," Pacey says, apologetic again, rubbing at his face like an old man. "I'm not trying to get you to take sides or whatever, I'm just - "

Joey takes his hand and squeezes it. "I'm your friend, too."

"Thanks." He smiles weakly, tugging her hand up and casually kissing the back, like he's done a million times before. But for some reason, this time, Joey bites her lip as their hands disconnect, a little flustered. "If she'd just _told_ me, I think I would've been fine with it. Or if not fine, at least I would have understood - it's not like I'm one of those possessive assholes that don't let their girlfriends stay in touch with exes - am I?"

"No," Joey says obediently. 

"But she _lied._ And I know she did it because she was afraid, or concerned, or whatever reasoning she had worked out that made her think she was putting my feelings first, but - she lied. I asked her outright and she lied straight to my face." Pacey shakes his head. "He was her first love. Her Tamara Jacobs, her Dawson Leery. And everything she and I shared, she was _telling him_ about - the entire time."

"Like I said, Pace," Joey says sympathetically, "100% understandable."

"I know I'm an insecure person," Pacey says. 

"Not overly!" 

"A little overly." Pacey demonstrates with two fingers, the amount of insecurity he has that is, apparently, over the limit. "I just…" he trails off, shaking his head. Joey's heart pounds, watching the expression on his face. 

She's only seen him like this one other time, after they found out about Andie. But that was a little bit more straightforward. 

"You'll make it through this, Pace," she says. "Today it sucks, and it'll probably suck tomorrow too. And the day after that, and the day after that, but...soon, you'll wake up and it'll be a little, tiny bit better. And then every morning, it'll seem further and further away, until you don't feel it anymore. Just one step at a time, right?"

"Right." Pacey gives her a tender smile, letting the silence stretch a little. Joey smiles back, and then something twists between them and suddenly they're laughing, giggling and snorting like little kids. "You should put that on a t-shirt. Bam! Wisdom of the ages."

"Stitch it on a pillow," Joey says. 

Pacey grins - the grin he's famous for, ear to ear and all teeth. "You don't have to finish that beer, Jo."

"No, I like it," Joey insists stubbornly. "I'm gonna finish it."

"Okay, but," Pacey says, "I think I'm ready for Tasty Burger now."

"Oh thank God," Joey blurts.

 

 

 

Two big tastys and a large order of fries later, and Pacey is mostly sobered up. Joey still insists they walk home - not because they can't drive, but because she never gets to walk around the city at night. She sticks to cabs, mostly, when she's on her own, and she and Pacey haven't spent much time on their own since he started dating Audrey. It was always the _three_ of them, for the most part. 

It occurs to her, not for the first time, that she's missed it. 

"You and Dawson - you could have worked that out," Pacey says. 

"No," Joey denies, shaking her head. "No way was I gonna stay with somebody who lives an entire continent away. I don't care how great it was."

"Was it great?" Pacey asks skeptically. "I mean, was it _really?_ Or was he just the greatest option available at the time?"

"We were eighteen, everything was great," Joey says with a laugh. 

"Until it wasn't, in which case it was the most terrible thing that had ever happened in all of human history."

"Right. One or the other, no in-between."

"God." Pacey shakes his head in exasperation. "We were unbearable. Do you remember that nasty short story you wrote for the literary magazine, with the femme fatale main characters _very obviously_ based on Jen Lindley and Abbey Morgan?"

"Of _course_ I remember it. I still feel guilty about that. But you helped me write it!"

"It was very cathartic at the time," Pacey says. "You with the jealousy, me with the bitter anger of the viciously dumped."

"I still can't believe you dated Abbey for so long," Joey replies, shaking her head. "All she did was make fun of you."

"Kinda fit my wants and needs, at the time," Pacey says. "Anyway. We were all just a bunch of dirtbags, weren't we? They got back at us in the end."

Joey winces. "And we deserved it."

Pacey laughs, nudging her with his hip. "You're still too nice for your own good, you know."

"Nice." Joey scoffs. "You're the only one who would dare to describe me as 'nice.'"

"It's true." Pacey drifts over to one of the benches that line the harbourwalk, pulling gently at her elbow to follow. "Deep down. Deep, deep, _deep_ down."

"Shut up," Joey grumbles fondly, flopping down beside him with a sigh. 

Pacey leans forward, balancing his arms on his knees, looking out over the harbour quietly. Joey crosses her arms and waits, sensing the conversation he's been working up to, finally about to arrive. 

"I think," he says, sort of deliberate in his tone, like he's thinking carefully about how to phrase it, "that Tamara is the reason I am...the way I am."

Joey's heart freezes at the name. "Hm? What do you mean, the way you are?"

"I mean, the way I am. The relationships I have, and the problems I bring into them." Pacey doesn't look at her, staring intently out at the water. "C'mon Jo. We're old enough now to call it what it was."

"I thought you loved her," Joey says. It sounds bitter even to her own ears, and she winces. 

"I did. But that didn't make it...normal. Or healthy." Pacey snorts. "Or legal."

"No, I guess not." Joey leans forward, matching his pose. Their elbows knock together companionably, in the space between their bodies. "It could be worse. It could be a lot, lot worse, Pace."

"Yeah."

"Sure you bring problems to the table, but who doesn't? Everybody brings baggage into their relationships. _Everybody._ Don't go thinking you're special," Joey tries to joke, nudging his shoulder. He doesn't seem to notice. "Look at me. I overthink things, and I'm extremely defensive about my family, and how much money I never have, and I put people on pedestals, and - "

"No, you just expect the best from people," Pacey interrupts. "That's not a problem. The problem is you haven't found anyone worthy enough to live up to it yet."

Joey blinks at him, stunned. 

"I, on the other hand," Pacey says, "look for girls - women - who need saving, because it makes me feel more normal to be with someone who has serious problems. To feel like a hero, instead of the fuck up everybody thinks I am. Because that's what Tamara taught me to do." He chuckles bitterly. "And then I wonder why I feel like shit when they inevitably move on without me. Also, what Tamara did, I might mention."

"You're a good person," Joey says quietly. "You've loved people with problems because people always have problems, Pace. The difference is that your compassion, your empathy - they make us feel safe enough to talk about it openly, to allow you to help us. And that is _not_ a bad thing. Tamara was...not a good person. You _are_ ; she _wasn't._ And that's it. It's that simple. "

Pacey lets his head hang for a second, hands clasped tightly together. "Is that what you think?"

"That's what I think." Joey leans in a little closer, pressing her cheek against the sharp corner of his shoulder, burying her nose in his shirt. She can feel him shaking, just a little bit. 

"You always think the best of me," Pacey says quietly. 

"No, I always tell the truth. How you choose to interpret it is your own issue," Joey mumbles, the words half-muffled by his sweater. 

Pacey reaches over to take her hand, and they sit quietly for a while, looking at the water, just existing. Joey can see him shaking his head every once in awhile, out of the corner of her eye - what he's thinking about, she can probably guess, but she doesn't say anything. Too afraid to break the silence. 

"Thanks, Potter," Pacey says gruffly, right when Joey has begun to shiver, the wind off the water beginning to pick up. "C'mon. You're gonna freeze to death out here."

Joey feels intensely reluctant to move, but allows Pacey to pull her up to her feet anyway. "You could come back to my dorm for awhile. Audrey went out with Jack, and they always crash at his place - if you left early enough tomorrow, you wouldn't see her. We could watch a movie or something."

"Nah. I have work early tomorrow." Pacey pauses. "I, uh, got a job. By the way."

"I kind of figured you weren't just bumming around, but - " Joey smacks his arm. "Thanks for telling me!"

"I forgot to mention it! That guy at _Boheme_ \- you know, the one Jack used to date? - he caught me moping around at Flanigan's, we got to talking and…" Pacey shrugs. 

"Waiter?" Joey guesses.

"Line cook. We'll see how it goes," Pacey says. Judging by the look on his face, he's clearly hoping the answer is 'well.'

"So that's why you withdrew?" Joey asks. "I still disapprove, by the way."

"It's pretty good money. Full time hours, too. Didn't think I could pull off both."

"Well. Congrats."

"But you still disapprove," Pacey says with a smirk. He catches her shivering again, frowns, and tugs her close, one arm around her shoulders.

"That's never stopped you before," Joey says, hoping he doesn't notice her leaning into the embrace. His sweater really is very fuzzy. She should totally steal it. 

"I value your opinion above all others, Jo," Pacey says. "Your disapproval has made me pause slightly, on several occasions."

"Before you went ahead and did whatever you wanted anyway," Joey says dryly. 

"But I _paused,_ " Pacey says. 

"Wow," Joey deadpans. "You must really, really like me."

"I actually kinda do," Pacey says, and kisses her forehead.

Joey blushes. "Shut up," she grumbles.

 

 

 

 

 

**2008**

Joey wakes up suddenly, like she's jolting out of a nightmare - one second she's deeply asleep, and the next she's sitting up in Pacey's gigantic, offensively purple bed, blinking around at the empty room and hyperventilating.

"Oh God," she says, and practically dives off the side of the mattress, searching frantically for her underwear. She doesn't know where he's gone, and thus - when he'll be back. She cannot face this conversation naked, she just _can't._

Where he's gone turns out to be the grocery store, which she discovers from a note written in eyeliner on the bathroom mirror. _Josephine,_ he's written (and Joey grimaces, both at the full name and the eyeliner itself, who even knows what hapless, bad-decision-making woman it once belonged to), _there is no coffee in this house, and I know what a demon you are when you're in withdrawal. Be back soon, feel free to talk yourself in and out of leaving as many times as you want in the meantime - xoxo, PW._

Joey scoffs at it. "Did you seriously write 'xoxo' at me? Fucking cheeseball. And oh, like I needed the signature, because otherwise I wouldn't know who I slept with last night!" She stops when she notices Pacey's needy, anxious border collie, Rufus, peeking his nose around the corner. "And I suppose you need something?" Joey asks him, trying to harden himself against his sad, cute, puppy face. Rufus just trots calmly into the bathroom and sits, budging his butt right up against her bare ankle, angling his head up and panting at her guilelessly. "Fine," Joey grumbles, reaching down to scratch his ears. He immediately leans into her, laying his head affectionately against the side of her leg, and Joey feels her anger melt away into nothingness - an affect Rufus, and dogs in general, always have on her, which she _swears_ is one of the main reasons Pacey adopted him. "Just...ugh. Fine."

She's not even hungover. At least then, she'd have a solid excuse. 

Her clothes are concentrated in three different areas of the house: bedroom, stairway, and foyer, and dressing is depressing to the extreme: a sober, embarrassing, reverse flashback of how she lost them the night before. Her phone is still in her jacket pocket, almost out of battery, and Joey manages to find Pacey's charger in the kitchen to plug it in. He'd bought her the damn thing for Christmas a few months before, and she'd teased him about getting her the exact kind he had, like he couldn't come up with a more original idea. That's also depressing, to be honest.

She lets Rufus out and then does actually consider leaving, for about two seconds before thinking about how pissed off he'd be, and how ashamed she'd feel, and resigns herself to the Conversation. His kitchen is almost bare, she discovers with incredulity - he's a professional chef, and he doesn't even have _eggs_ in the fridge, for fuck's sake - but her stomach is growling and who knows how long ago he left, so she eats a Nutrigrain bar at the counter and glumly checks her text messages. Nothing new, of course - the only person who calls or texts her regularly is Pacey. The jerk. 

So she calls Jack, feeling pathetic. "Help," she says, in response to his greeting. "Jack, I need so much help."

"I assume," Jack replies, sounding amused, "since you sound relatively calm and uninjured, that this is a personal situation, not an emergency one."

"It's a personal emergency," Joey says, biting at her thumbnail and gathering her courage. "I, um. Something happened with me and Pacey last night. After we left the party."

Jack is silent for a beat, and then bursts into laughter. "Oh my _God!_ " he says, audibly gasping for breath. " _Oh my God,_ Joey Potter, oh my - "

"Would you shut up! This is serious!"

"Are you seriously and truly calling me from his bed right now? At least tell me you put your pants on first."

"I am in the _kitchen,_ and I don't appreciate your attitude," Joey says primly. Jack snorts loudly, still laughing. "Jack, come on, I'm trying not to freak out here. Remember when you and Doug started dating and I didn't laugh or make fun of you at all? Remember that, Jack?"

"Bullshit, you totally made fun of me," Jack says. "You just did it in a really nice way so I wouldn't get pissed off."

"Still," Joey insists. 

"Well, okay. Fine. What do you need - a ride? Morning after pill, ointment for all your strained muscles? Engagement ring catalog, real estate agent, wedding planner…"

"Shut up!" Joey squeaks, face hot. "No! None of those things!"

"Please, Joey," Jack says, sounding a little less sarcastic, "if you wanted someone to tell you it was a mistake and how dare you and go home right now, you should've called Audrey."

Joey sighs, leaning her face into one palm. "Oh, man. Ohh, man. Jack, I'm freaking out a little."

"Well, quit it," Jack says mercilessly. "It was gonna happen eventually, and if you really didn't see it coming then you were lying to yourself and you know it. Get your shit together and talk to him. That's all I got for you."

"Okay," Joey says, nodding at the counter. "Yeah. Good advice."

"Thanks," Jack says. "Is that all you needed? It's Sunday morning, I wanna go back to sleep."

"Yeah," Joey says. "Don't tell Doug yet."

"Are you kidding me? He's sitting right here, he's been listening the entire time," Jack says incredulously. 

"What!" Joey sputters. "Jack!"

"Hey, _you_ called _me,_ " Jack says, laughing again. "He says 'congrats,' by the way. Also 'it's about time,' but he didn't want me to say that because he thought it might hurt your feelings."

Joey groans loudly, pressing her forehead against one of the kitchen cabinets. "Tell him _not_ to tell my stupid sister _anything._ "

"I'll pass that on, Jo. Good luck, remember not to be a big fat coward."

"Yeah, thanks," Joey snaps, and hangs up. _Well that was helpful_ , she thinks. 

 

 

 

In retrospect, calling Jack was probably a little rude, Joey figures. The party last night had been for their anniversary, and when she realizes how early it is, she feels even worse about it. Probably that wasn't the way they wanted to wake up. Not that Joey still wouldn't have called, of course, but she would've been nicer about it, maybe. 

Joey puts around the living room, mostly, waiting for Pacey to get back - with Rufus on her heels the entire time, clearly anxious in response to her anxiety. He's very sensitive like that - Pacey can't even take him to the dog park. 

She finally settles down on the couch with a magazine and coaxes him up to sit next to her, hoping they'll calm each other down with snuggles, or something. She doesn't get much of a chance to find out, since Pacey comes home not even two minutes afterwards. 

"Potter! I've brought you muffins!" he calls, practically shouting as he slams his way through the door. Joey rolls her eyes; twenty-five years old and he's still incapable of shutting a door quietly instead of slamming it. "I've got blueberry, I've got poppyseed, I've got - oh," he says, stopping at the mouth of the living room, "there you are. You like lattes, right?"

"Yes," Joey says, making grabby hands for the drink carrier. There are three cups there, weirdly.

"This one's yours," Pacey says, pulling out the largest ones. "The third one is just sugar and stuff, I wasn't sure how you take it, these days. Hey buddy," he says, sliding onto the couch on the opposite side of Rufus, who scooches up and turns around, thumping his tail in excitement. Pacey scratches his head fondly, angling the muffin out of reach. "No, no, these aren't yours. Making friends, Potter?" 

"He's cuter than you," Joey says, dumping the cup of sugar packets out onto the coffee table, on the hunt for Stevia. "Thanks - for the coffee. And muffins, I guess. Why the hell don't you have any food in your kitchen, what's up with that?"

"Are you kidding? I eat at work. Nobody to cook for here." Pacey clears his throat, scratching at his beard nervously. "You saw the note, right?"

"Yes," Joey says with a scowl, and punches his arm. "Just because you saw me naked doesn't mean you get to call me 'Josephine,' jerk."

"No, I get to call you Josephine because when we met you were still going by 'Josie,'" Pacey says, scowling back at her. 

"I was _seven._ "

"Exactly my point." Pacey shoos Rufus off the couch, scooting a bit closer and opening the muffin bag. "Here. Eat. It'll help with the aggression."

"I don't think that's true," Joey says, but takes a muffin anyway. 

They're from one of her favorite places, a bakery downtown that's twenty minutes away, which is why it took him so long to get back. Joey takes the oatmeal one - also her favorite - and sneaks a glance at Pacey, who is petting Rufus with unusual concentration. There's a Starbucks right around the corner. He didn't have to drive so far. 

"Let's eat on the porch," he suggests. "It's nice out. We can, uh. Talk." He scratches his beard again. 

Joey gently takes the bag out of his hands, putting hers back inside. "Grab some napkins. And butter - I assume you have butter, at least?"

"You wanna put butter on an oatmeal muffin? What's wrong with you?"

"Pacey," Joey says sternly, standing up.

Rufus jumps to his feet too in response, and Pacey rolls his eyes. "I know, she's so bossy," he says. "Fine. Whatever her highness wants."

"Feel free to kiss my ass in the meantime, my squire," Joey says sweetly. 

 

 

 

"So," says Joey. 

"So," Pacey says back.

Then they chew in some tense silence for awhile, regarding each other. 

"Well," he finally says, "good talk. Glad we had it."

"You're free to start it yourself, you know," Joey says, slathering butter liberally on the second half of her muffin. Just out of spite, really.

Pacey wrinkles his nose at it. "I can't believe you eat butter on a cold, oatmeal muffin. You are the fussiest, freakiest person I have ever met in my life."

Joey takes a huge, stubborn bite, maintaining eye contact the entire time. 

"Charming," Pacey says, but he's smirking. "Rufus! No."

Rufus slinks away from where he was nosing at the rest of the muffins, head down. 

"You didn't bring him one, and here we are, flaunting it in front of his face," Joey chides.

"You must be the one who keeps giving him people food behind my back," Pacey says, not sounding all that mad about it. "I'd been wondering."

"Deprived," Joey says, rubbing Rufus's ears. "Neglected. Abandoned."

Pacey rolls his eyes and breaks off a chunk of his blueberry muffin, whistling once and holding it out. Rufus zips over like he's just heard a gunshot. 

The awkwardness descends again, as they watch Rufus feast. "So," Joey says again, and Pacey sighs with exasperation. 

"Let's not get caught in that trap again," he says. "'So we slept together,' is the second half of that sentence. 'Again,' if you're feeling verbose."

"Are we ever not verbose?" Joey asks rhetorically. "You forgot 'after we promised each other we'd stop.'"

"Well I don't know about you, but I thought that was just something you say," Pacey says. "Like how you tell someone they look very nice in fuchsia when they have to wear an ugly dress for a wedding."

"Hey," Joey says, frowning, "you said that to me at Bessie and Bodie's - "

"Anyway," Pacey says loudly, "I didn't really mean it, is the point. Want another muffin?" he says quickly, digging into the bag. Rufus watches attentively from his knee. 

"No," Joey says, and scowls. "I _did_ mean it. For the record."

"Well." Pacey rubs his beard. "That's awkward."

Joey clears her throat, regretting saying it already. "I just thought we - that we'd decided something, and we had our reasoning worked out and all, and - "

"No, hey, it's fine," Pacey says, waving his head and looking strained, "you don't have to - "

"I didn't mean it like that," Joey blurts. "Like you're thinking. Stop - stop looking like that. With your face."

"With my face?" Pacey echoes, incredulous. "Am I doing something with my face?"

"Something I don't like," Joey says, clearing her throat and refusing to look away. He blinks at her, nonplussed. "Quit it."

"Okay."

"Okay," Joey says. They stare at each other for another minute, Rufus wagging his tail between them. He probably thinks he's gonna get another muffin out of whatever this is. 

"Jo," Pacey says hesitantly, "are you saying that - "

"I'm not saying anything!" Joey says quickly, heart in her throat. "You - we've been friends for a long time, our whole lives, practically, and we were fighting all the time, you know...before. We had good reasons, and that's why I meant it. That's all."

"We were fighting all the time because we were sleeping together and not talking about it, which I am trying to _remedy_ , if you would calm down for a hot second and stop being weird, _Josephine_ \- "

"I'm not weird! And stop calling me _Josephine_."

"I will call you whatever I want when you're giving me the runaway eyes, sweetheart," Pacey says. Joey retreats into a huff. "Did you know you get annoyed every time I use your full name? It's the same, specific kind of annoyance, and it always lasts for exactly the same length of time. Since you were ten, you've been doing it. Same response, every time. Like clockwork. Didn't you ever notice _when_ I do it? You didn't pick up on the pattern at _all_?"

"I, uh," Joey says, taken aback, "I noticed you have a pattern of annoying me on purpose, yes. I noticed that."

"When you're anxious, or sad about something stupid, or you look like you're about to bolt," Pacey recites, looking smug and also kind of sad, all at the same time. "It's like magic. You snap out of whatever ridiculous funk you're in and call me a name and punch my arm. Over and over."

"Oh," Joey says, feeling stupid. And exposed. 

"You also cross your arms when I call you out on that sort of thing. Like right now," Pacey says, nodding at her. Joey looks down at her arms, crossed across her chest defensively. She hadn't even noticed. "And you grimace when you swallow something gross, which is how I know you really don't like cold butter on cold muffins, you were just doing it to annoy me, because you're the most stubborn person in the entire fucking universe. You talk to yourself when you're alone and you think I don't know, and you stole my U2 CDs and gave them to Goodwill so you wouldn't have to listen to them anymore, and you don't think I know that, either. You cry at the end of Sabrina and you'd die before you admit it, you hate Bessie's cooking but you'd never say anything no matter how mad at her you are, you've always wanted to dye your hair blonde but you've never worked up the guts to do it, and you make this ridiculous noise when you come." Joey stares at him, speechless. "You sound like a squirrel," Pacey adds helpfully. "It's extremely cute."

"I do not," Joey manages, "sound like a fucking _squirrel._ "

"Yes you do," Pacey says. "Don't worry. It's sexy in the moment."

Joey pushes back from the table and stands up, her face hot. She needs some space. 

"I need some space," she announces.

Pacey waves his hand. "There's a whole house of it," he says, not unkindly. "I'll be here when you're ready."

Joey opens her mouth and then closes it again, because she can't come up with anything to say. Pacey starts eating his muffin again, calm as anything. God, she hates him. 

"Please don't slam the door, I just replaced it," Pacey says. 

"I'm gonna slam your door if I wanna slam your door," Joey snaps. 

She doesn't slam it. (It's brand new.)

 

 

 

Joey's first instinct is to call Jack again, which of course is a horrible idea. So she paces and thinks about the other people she could call and talk this out with: her sister, who thinks Pacey is an immature dumbass and always advises Joey to choose whatever option means less Pacey in her life, which will inevitably end in yelling and tears on both ends. Her dad, who has recently remarried a woman only three years older than Joey herself, and is trying extremely hard to get everyone to be okay with it so Joey will inevitably have to say hello, and has always been absolutely useless when it comes to advice anyway. Audrey, who once made Joey promise that if she ever ended up dating Pacey in any capacity that she never tell Audrey about it, ever. Bex, who's had a gigantic crush on him since Joey told her the story about Pacey buying her the wall senior year so she could redo her vandalized mural, and thus will also be useless. Her therapist, who will bill her for the conversation. Bodie, who will grunt into the phone for twenty minutes before finally telling her he doesn't know. 

Wow, she needs new friends. 

Joey stands in the kitchen and bites her nails and thinks about: the way Pacey had said "nobody to cook for here," like he was hoping she'd say something specific in response, how he always thinks the worst of himself, even when confronted with direct evidence that he's an impossibly stand-up, noble person, how he scratches his beard because he doesn't really like it but he knows it makes him look older and also that Joey likes how it feels when he goes down on her, how he drives five under the speed limit whenever they're in the vicinity of a police station, the way he sings in the shower and talks to Rufus like he's a person, the burger on his menu named after Joey's favorite book, the obnoxious purple sheets he bought because she hated them, the empty cupboards in his kitchen, and the extra cup of sugar packets.

Her entire life has been moulded and shaped in some way by a friendship that defined and pushed them both: when they were kids, he'd stand there and listen while she yelled and bitched and sometimes cried, and when they were older, that was when he started bitching back. She knows the inside of his head better than she knows her own, knows things about him that she doesn't know about her sister, things that she didn't know about half a dozen boyfriends - some of which were actually serious, no matter what anybody said. The first time they slept together he kept stopping to make sure she was still okay, eyes wide in the dark bedroom like he couldn't believe what was happening. Sometimes he calls her in the middle of the night when he's just got off a dinner shift, sort of tipsy, walking home along the harbour, and says "okay, love you" as he's hanging up, and she doesn't think he's actually...noticed. But she noticed. She's always noticed. 

It always kind of pissed her off that Jack and Doug treated it like a joke, like it was inevitable, like she was silly for being nervous. It's not a fucking joke. It's the rest of her life. She just wants to get it right, that's all: she wants it to be right, and strong. And permanent. 

Pacey's still sitting right where she left him, his muffin gone and Rufus curled against his feet. He's staring at the neighbor's yard, intently, like he could find the meaning of the universe in their sad-looking crabapple tree, and Joey loves him to fucking pieces. 

"Hey Potter," he says, when he notices her approach, "are you still - "

Joey kisses him. A much better way to shut him up, it seems, because he flails his arms backward like a gigantic dork before gripping the sides of his chair to push up and kiss her back. Joey snorts, laughing into it and he pinches her side, pulling away to kiss her chin, the top of her neck, and the mole under her ear that he's obsessed with. 

"What is _in_ that kitchen?" he says. "You didn't get into my bourbon, did you? You know how you get slutty when you drink."

"Shut up," Joey says, and kisses him again. His beard is very scratchy and nice, and she likes it very much, and then suddenly she's in his lap - who knows how that happened - which she likes, too. All sorts of fun developments happening. 

"So," he says, pulling away for air.

"So."

He squeezes her waist, leaning his forehead briefly against her collarbone. "You scared the shit out Rufus."

She looks over, looking over at him, now huddled in the corner and eyeing them warily. "Poor thing."

"He doesn't like it when we have sex, either. I had to put the doggy gate up last night."

"Is that what you were doing? I thought you were getting condoms."

"That too," Pacey says, kissing her chin again. "I have more. Just saying."

"Subtle, Pace," Joey says with a snort.

"I hide them strategically around the house, should the moment arise in an inconvenient spot. Like, oh - the living room, the kitchen, the - just spitballing here - the _porch_."

"Do you really?" Joey asks, eyes narrowed. She looks around, exaggeratedly. "Where?"

"Taped to the bottom of the deck," Pacey says. "Waterproof envelope."

"Freak," Joey says affectionately, and kisses him again. 

"Jo," Pacey mumbles into the kiss, "are you - " he pulls away briefly and sniffs her hair, "did you use my cologne this morning?"

"I smelled bad and I didn't wanna take a shower," Joey explains.

"You're - " Pacey breaks off into a laugh, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

"You're the one who buys body spray, Pacey - just because you call it 'cologne' doesn't make it not body spray," Joey says. 

"It's unisex!" Pacey says. 

"It smells like 'fig and sweet almond,'" Joey shoots back, trying to contain her smile. 

"Unisex scents," Pacey says, "unisex product."

"Please stop saying 'unisex.'"

"Why, does it turn you on too much?"

"Like, exactly the opposite of that," Joey says, tugging at one of his ears. 

Pacey swats her hand away, grinning. "The word shall never grace my lips again," he promises.

"Good," Joey says, and then they don't talk for awhile after that. 

 

 

 

"You know," Pacey says later, "I had like three different speeches ready. I worked on them in the car."

"And you settled on 'I know all this weird shit about you, neener neener neener'?" Joey asks. 

"No, that was on the fly. You took me off guard with the muffin thing."

"It was honey butter," Joey says, pouting a little. "It was _good._ "

Pacey reaches up and touches her face tenderly, eyes soft, and then flips her hair in front of her face. "You're a freak."

" _You're_ the freak!" Joey responds, laughing, in lieu of something more creative. Her editor would probably forgive her, considering the circumstances. "I wanna hear the other speeches."

"Nope. No way," Pacey says, shaking his head. "Maybe someday. If we don't break up and hate each other for the rest of our lives."

"Hm," Joey says, fake-thoughtful, one hand on her chin and everything. "I don't know that I like those odds. You are _extremely_ annoying."

"Yeah, it'll be a miracle if we make it a year," Pacey says flippantly. 

"Six months would be pushing it."

"Really we should just end it now. Save ourselves the trouble."

"Okay, you've convinced me," Joey says, leaning in and kissing his eyelids, one by one. "I'm leaving now."

Pacey laughs a little as she pulls away. "You're such a sap, Potter," he teases. 

"Sap says what?" Joey says. 

"Shut up," he replies, still laughing.


End file.
